The Snake and the Lion by the Seashore
by Lulu Mercury
Summary: Why, with wands tightly grasped in their hands, aren't Voldemort and Harry duelling for life? Instead, they become locked in a soft, then hungry and lingering kiss. Harry longs to see the Tom Riddle he remembers from the memories.


**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, not I. If it belonged to me, I would be outrageously rich, and right now, probably jumping around my mansion ecstatically, laughing hysterically, as I realise, I am filthy rich and if the characters actually existed, I would be offering Harry, Snape, Dumbledore, Hermione, Luna, Ron and the twins my most expensive bottle of wine, and setting up Singstar, so that I can take cruel pleasure in forcing particularly Snape to sing (whilst he wears extremely tight leather pants and no shirt.)

**Note:** I'm not a Harry/Voldemort shipper, but I felt like challenging myself with an impossible pairing, to explore that idea.

The Snake and the Lion by the Seashore

Harry and Voldemort are staring at one another, breathing heavily. Wands clutched tightly in their hands. Each man is hesitant, unsure, haunted. Harry knows this is the final time he will stand before the man with his wand in his hand, ready to strike.

'Who am I?' Voldemort asks and this shocks Harry. He stares.

'You're Voldemort.'

'Precisely.' He's smirking.

'No. No, you're Tom. Just Tom.' Harry says, sneering.

'I am more than just Tom.' Voldemort says the name 'Tom' which severe distain.

Harry walks towards Voldemort, feeling the dewy wet grass scrape through his bare feet. He's an inch away from the face that has haunted him all of these years in his dreams. He looks directly into the red slits for eyes, watches the snake-like slit for a nose flare slightly. Harry's heart plummeted when Vol- Tom, had grasped his arm, after they were outside the entrance of Hogwarts and Apparated him to the strangest place. The seashore where Dumbledore had taken Harry last year when they retrieved Slytherin's necklace. It's obscure, strange, and oddly halcyon. But it doesn't make sense. They are alone. Harry breaths deeply, as he watches the indifference on Tom's face. He has forced himself to think of him as Tom. Just Tom. To think of him as Voldemort, gives him an importance he doesn't deserve. Harry sucks in the salty air, feels and smells and breaths its invigorating freshness.

'Are you so sure you should stand here, without a wand ready, pointed at me?' Tom asks, peering at Harry curiously. Head slightly tiled to one side. Harry copies, and tilts his own head to the side, as he gazes at the man who has caused his short life so much pain, agony, suffering. He took everything and yet his curse gave Harry life.

'Why did you bring me here?' Harry breaths. Harry is looking at Tom's face as intensely as if it's a very complicated puzzle he wishes to solve. Harry is trying to find the handsome Tom Riddle he remembers from his second year when Ginny Weasley became lured into his diary, his web of lies.

'I have been thwarted by luck that has ruined my plans to kill you once and for all, Harry Potter. You kept escaping. So, to answer your question Harry, I have taken you here because I have to treat our last meeting with delicacy. My Death Eaters, nor the pawns you pretend are friends, are going to stand in our way. This is the first place of seclusion I thought of.'

'Is that because, this is where you hid your Horcrux?' Harry ventures, knowing that any moment either he or Tom will die, and he does not care. He revels in how it feels to haunt Tom with his knowledge. He knows Tom's secrets, and he's going to let Tom know.

Shock, disbelief and denial shadow Tom's face. Then anger. Bitter, sardonic, infuriated, more incensed that Harry has ever seen on his mutilated face.

'How?' And for the first time, Harry hears him talk in a strained voice. It is no longer controlled.

'If I told you, I'd have to kill you.' Harry jokes, though a laugh does not erupt from his body, a smile doesn't grace his lips. His lips do not even curve into a smirk. To Harry's immense surprise, so great, he feels his heart drop into his stomach, Tom does. His smirk is wide and stretching, and his red eyes are glittering with mirth, and for a moment, just a moment, he looks the most human Harry has even seen of Tom.

'So, you know my secrets, do you? That's interesting. That's very interesting.' Tom is afraid now. He is no longer pointing his wand at Harry, for fear he will be stripped of his powers again like he was all those years ago when the Mudblood bitch gave her life for the obnoxious child, and the vibration of that magic, of that love, was too intense, too foreign, yet powerful, and deadly to a person as cold as Tom. Tom cannot understand love, he cannot conceive of love. No one has ever loved Tom, or shown him what love is. He clutches his wand in his hand, not pointing, not ready to strike.

'I know you split your soul all those ways, to make yourself immortal. You damaged your soul, Tom. You can't repair it. And my 'pawns' and I, have destroyed all of your Horcruxes, all the parts of your soul. You am me are the only parts left now.' Harry loves to watch the slithering snake face melt into horror. He is shaking his head. No. No. No. His mind is screaming _NO!_ But his eyes are wide, terrified.

'What do you mean, we are the last pieces? Do you mean to say, a part of my soul, is in you?' Somehow, Tom finds it within himself to snarl these words at the man before him, whose emerald green eyes he remembers on the face of Lily Evans, and he cannot believe he is thinking it, but he suddenly feels a wave of hatred at his mother for dying. How dare she? How dare she leave him to grow up alone in that orphanage? He acknowledges that he is broken, beyond repair. He knows that if he had known love, whatever that word was, what it meant, that he would not have, need, require, depend on...destruction. He knows as he looks into the eyes of the inquisitive little fool who has been a thorn in his side all of these years, that those who believe in love are just fools, because whatever love was, it hindered people. Tom knows as they stare at each other wordlessly, that even though this strange force called love was strong, it also breaks people. Harry had informed him, before they arrived here, that Severus was Dumbledore's man after all, because he had loved Lily. And he had fallen. The Mudblood, the worthless, filthy Mudblood, had not wanted even Severus. He loved her endlessly, Harry Potter had said. Tom had laughed. It proved to Tom that love was also the path to ones greatest fall. Love had made Severus weak, tormented, pathetic.

'When you tried to kill me and failed, a part of your soul etched itself in me.' Harry says, raising his hands to his face and parting his messy black and mattered fringe, to show Tom his lightning bolt scar.

'See? That's why I can read your moods...see visions...talk to snakes...' Harry whispers dangerously, and he's closer to Tom, much too close now. Tom thinks Harry is trying to be threatening. It is working. He is usually cold, but Tom feels his heart beat faster, harder than he is use to.

'You cannot kill me, then, without killing yourself.' Tom is elated. He has come out on top and his horrible, mangled face morphs into a stranger, more obscure, melted look. That elation, that ecstatic bliss, is not a nice thing on Tom's face. Harry isn't scared, though. His heart isn't beating with panic like it was when he was a useless fourteen year old, hiding behind a headstone, while Cedric lay dead and lifeless on the ground.

'That's right. I have to die, too.'

'So, if I kill you, you will be gone and I will remain.' There is hope. Tom raises his wand, points it directly at Harry's heart.

'Maybe.' Harry says indifferently. 'But, you should realise, that I am prepared to selflessly die like my mum did for me. Don't you think that might result in the same thing happening again?' Harry says harshly, green eyes blazing. Tom wonders why Harry is telling him this. Surely this should have been a well hidden card. Why was Potter revealing a secret that may save him? So, if he kills Harry Potter, he will be stripped of his powers again like...last time. His mind unwillingly flies to that night. That dreaded night. He remembers feeling the pain rip and tear through his body, feeling his body collapse, and his spirit, what was left of his mangled, destroyed spirit, flee in a flurry. He would not let that happen to him again.

'You remember what it was like, I'm sure? No powers. No body.' Harry smiles.

'You are lying.'

'Am I? If you think so, why don't you just kill me now? You're funeral.' He added and it was those words that Harry had added jokily, that made Tom frown at Harry Potter, wondering. Why was the boy warning him? There was no way to kill the boy. His powers would be stripped, and he would be nothing but the last part of his soul, lost. Could the unusual boy kill him, though?

'What is left, then? If I can't kill you...'

'I could kill you...or try to. But then, I'd be left with some of your soul in me, wouldn't I?' Harry asks, frowning deeply, eyes glassy, lips a tight line. Mind thinking desperately, hopelessly. Heart now deciding it was time to pound. He realises with dismay he is still too close to Tom, far too close.

Both men have been travelling on their chosen paths. They both have come to a dead end.

'Yeah...bit awkward isn't it? Not much left now, is there?' Harry says. 'So, since we can't...or are thinking better of killing each other, maybe I'll ask you, why did you decide to become a dark wizard, hmm? Take my parents from me Take everything and everyone from me. Why...'

'There is no good and evil, Harry. Only power and those too weak to seek it.' Tom replies softly, and Harry remembers it all too well. He is eleven; standing in front of that enchanted mirror he so desperately wished he could gaze into forever. Forever rest his eyes on his father James, his mother Lily. But he's not gazing at his parents. Fire dances around the background, and he's staring into the mirror and nothing is reflected back except his own reflection. His reflection winks, shows him the red gleaming stone in his pocket. He remembers the horrible snake-like face, hissing into his ear 'There is no good and evil, Harry. Only power and those too weak to seek it.' He had told Harry he could bring back Lily and James...if only...if only.

'I don't think there is nothing left, but to seek that power. If we aren't going to kill the other, nothing is left. We are still connected by your soul in me.' Harry says, feeling furious. He feels sickened, furious, and disgusted that a part of Voldemort's soul is inside him. A strange voice Harry faintly recognizes whispers into his mind, _'Not sickened, not disgusted...perhaps, curious? Interested, wondering, intrigued? What could be... using his soul within us to instead work together, rather than uselessly working against, forever rivals? He is not going to kill you, and you are not going to kill him, so what is left? Why not? Maybe, we should see what it is like. James, Lily, Sirius, Tonks, Remus, Hedwig, Mad-Eye...Dobby...all gone. Nothing left.' _That voice is Harry's voice but it is more hissing, more sly. Cunning.

'No. Fight. Fight. We can't give up.'

But an image suddenly invades Harry's mind, and he is again thinking of the Tom Riddle he saw from the memories. The handsome pale face. The high cheekbones. The dark simmering eyes and the soft black hair. He is beautiful and Harry knows he has been forever intrigued by young Tom Riddle, and how and why he became what he became. Harry looks into the red eyes and wonders how and why the smouldering dark eyes vanished. He wished they would return. He needed them to be back, so that he knew he was looking at the real Tom Riddle. Not this hideous mask. Without the real Tom Riddle's dark eyes, there is no telling what emotions Voldemort really feels.

'Only power.' Harry whispers. 'You've said it before, we're alike. Hogwarts was both our true home, our only refuge. But we were different. I just want to know...who you really were, before you became this ugly man with a face like a snake, with red eyes? Do you know, when you were young, the power you had over people because of your charm, your good looks? Do you know the power you had over Ginny Weasley, over...the Gray Lady? Moaning Myrtle. What happened to Tom? Was he ever a...a good person?' Harry needs to know, suddenly.

Mirth dances in Tom's eyes and it looks like heightening flames.

'I am aware of the effect I had on people. I do not like the face I came to possess, Harry. And was I ever a good person? I don't know what a good person is and neither do you. You have not always been a good person. A gaping part of you is hateful, full of rage, snide, even cruel. A part of you likes being cruel.' Harry doesn't deny this.

'I think I know what you want, Harry.' This time, Tom steps closer. Harry is breathing heavier and when he takes his eyes from his shoes and raises them to Tom's face, he gasps. Because the first time Harry and Voldemort have ever stood face to face, Harry is finally looking into the face of the Tom Riddle he remembers from the memories. The face that was both enticing and dangerous, alluring, haunting, that face, that Harry saw goad Hagrid. That face, that Harry spoke to in the Chamber of Secrets and destroyed with a violent strike of the basilisk fang in that deceitful black diary. That face that Harry saw in a cold and dank orphanage, that face that charmed a woman with hideous blush and a soft spot for him. His hands must have a demented mind of their own, for they are caressing the handsome face of Tom Riddle. He outlines the strong jaw, the nose, and the high cheekbones. His shaking and cold fingers flutter over Tom's eyes, dark brown and piercing Harry, they finally shut at the strange touch. Harry's hands finally ghost over Tom's perfect lips. It is surreal, it is wrong, so deliciously forbidden, that both men cannot resist, and their lips meet in a very soft, very lingering, kiss. It is much different from Harry's kiss with Ginny. It is not like several long sunsets. It is like tasting the most enticing fruit, and enjoying it. Harry moans when Tom's tongue slithers into his mouth and tangles with his. He moans. He can't help it. His tongue tangles back, enjoying the dance. Harry kisses more hungrily, forcibly, and he bites Tom's bottom lip but Tom doesn't mind. Tom's slender hands massage Harry's mane of messy dark hair, slithers through the locks. They press closer into each other, and Harry manages an obscure smirk, even with Tom's lips so desperately attached to his own, when he hears Tom moan so delectably. The kiss slows, it becomes strangely tender, and Harry suddenly, oddly, starts to think about things like the sun rising over a fresh, perpetual, glinting ocean, and a moon so full in the black canvas of a sky, that it looks like a large and very beautiful pearl. They break apart, their lips parting. Both gasping. The dark eyes meet with the green; both eyes are wide, horror-struck, warm, enraged, and feverish. They do nothing more but look at each other intensely, without blinking. It is similar to staring at the moon for a long time and not tearing your gaze away. The moon so full, so white, so glowing, like a pearl, makes us watch in wonder. It is utterly beautiful. It is also utterly mysterious, and as Tom stares at Harry, he thinks, he has never seen a thing more beautiful, and Harry thinks he has never seen anything as dazzling, equally haunting and daunting, and terribly mystifying, as staring at the beautiful, stunning enigma that is Tom Marvolo Riddle.


End file.
